


let the waters still

by coldwaughtersq



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Domestic Fluff, Episode: s03e05 A Life in the Day, Fluff, M/M, Mosaic, References to Depression, Romantic Cuddling, quentin goes swimming, schmoopy fluffy adorableness, this is the most self-indulgent thing, yes teddy parents still have sex sometimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-28 18:44:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19400134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldwaughtersq/pseuds/coldwaughtersq
Summary: Quentin and Eliot cuddle sixteen years after their Mosaic quest begins.





	let the waters still

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rizcriz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rizcriz/gifts).



> So, Riz is writing drabbles for people who donate to Jason's Covenant House Sleep Out fundraiser ([donate here](https://www.sleepout.org/index.cfm?fuseaction=donorDrive.participant&participantID=21309)), and you can find her fics [here](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1405387). But she's also donated to the fundraiser, and I felt bad that no one was writing something for her. 
> 
> So here, sweetheart, have almost 1k words of not-too-explicit mosaic fluff, using your prompt of "Teddy walking in on Eliot and Quentin having sex". I don't know if I did it exactly the way you were picturing (LOL) but I hope you love it anyway.
> 
> Special thanks to my other wife Sarah [ohmarqueliot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmarqueliot), and Jaime [snoopypez](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snoopypez) for giving this a once-over for me before posting. Y'all are awesome. 
> 
> Title from "Home" by Gabrielle Aplin.

The water was clear, and the world beneath its surface was silent and calm. Quentin could see plants swaying amongst the rocks at the bottom of the pond, he could see fish flitting through the water like hummingbirds, and in the distance, the cave of the Rhyming Turtle. The sunlight pooled and rippled in the silence, like it was another world, and Quentin wished - not for the first time in his life - that he could stay here forever. He’d always loved to swim.

Eventually, though, the pressure in his lungs turned burning, pushed him back up into the light until he burst into a world of wind, and grass, and birdsong, and the distant figure of Eliot - smiling indulgently at him from his blanket perch on the shore.

He briefly considered feel embarrassed - the other thing that breaking the surface had returned to him was that irritating feeling that he wasn’t good enough, that he never could be. The voice that told him he took too much effort for anyone to deal with. He tried to brush it off - He knew it wasn’t true, not really. Eliot made him feel like it wasn’t true, and after eight years - ten if you counted the very beginning, and sixteen, if you counted their entire lives here - he felt like he could trust that.

He flipped over into a lazy backstroke towards the shore, feeling lighter than he had in weeks. He was held up by the water, yes, but he also wasn’t being pulled down into himself. Into the darkness and self-doubt that took everything he knew and wanted and twisted them inside out.

He could take that as a win.

Eliot was spread out in the sunlight on their quilt in much the same way he had been when they’d first met in their other life: propped on his elbows, one leg crooked up for drama while the other stretched languorously in the sunlight. The long, flowing lines of his body were still arresting even without his tailored earth clothing - Eliot was wearing simple drawstring pants and a wrap shirt, sans vest today, and Quentin still felt that heady, slightly dizzy feeling, most of the time, when he looked at him. Like he wanted Eliot to eat him alive.

Quentin squeezed the water out of his own hair - he was wearing nothing but swimming shorts and his increasingly soft stomach at the moment, not that anyone was bothered by that but himself - and joined Eliot on their quilt to dry out. The flat earth and fabric beneath his back felt grounding after the aimless buoyancy of the water.

“Hey.” He said, bumping his shoulder against Eliot’s.

“Hey.” Eliot responded, turning himself in towards Quentin like he had been waiting for permission. He snaked an arm over Quentin’s stomach and hooked a leg over his knee, ignoring the dampness from the pond. Quentin relaxed into the hold, warm and happy and safe. “Feeling better?”

“Much better.” Eliot’s face was close now, propped on his elbow and his hand like they were trading gossip at a slumber party, and Quentin lifted his face, just slightly, to ask for a kiss that Eliot supplied with lazy enthusiasm, grinning when they break apart.

“Opium water will do that for you.” Quentin paused here to roll his eyes. All water in Fillory was opium water, at least at this point in the timeline. The Rhyming Turtle’s pond just happened to be nearby, and have a higher concentration than normal. Which made it ideal for midday swimming. “Really, though, it’s good to have you back.” Eliot punctuates that with another kiss, and he doesn’t protest that he didn’t actually go anywhere. They’ve been through enough of these cycles that there’s no point in denying that while he’s been physically present, mentally he’s spent the last few weeks somewhere else. “And Teddy’s probably pretty happy about it too. Or, he will be. Later.” He adds, his eyes sparkling mischievously as he slides his mouth over to Quentin’s jaw.

“Oh god.” Quentin groans as they convulse into laughter again, a flush creeping up his neck under Eliot’s lips at the reminder of their morning: the mortified squeak Teddy had let out when he crashed into their bedroom just as Quentin had moaned, his hand tightening in Eliot’s hair. Their door slamming again almost before either of them processed what had happened, and Eliot nearly choking himself trying not to laugh. “I can’t believe he saw that.”

“He’s fourteen, it won’t scar him for life.” Eliot replies muffled, as he drops gentle, soft kisses along the pinking skin of Quentin’s neck, the barest hint of stubble dragging behind him. Quentin’s not sure that’s true - but it’s hard to spare thought power for that with Eliot curled around him, touching him like he’s something precious. Hard to think about anything else other than how much he wants to be right here, forever.

“At least maybe next time he’ll knock before barging into bedrooms.”

“An important life lesson.” Eliot agrees gravely, before switching tacks: drawing circles into his stomach with his free hand, inching slowly down the soft expanse of skin. “I never did get to finish your wake-up call.” He offers, and Quentin closes his eyes on a contented hum, feeling stirrings of interest but not a pressing need, shakes his head.

“Maybe later?” He asks, and feels the questing fingertips return to their original position, still circling, but firmer. Touches to soothe instead of excite. He’s here in Fillory, in this place that feels like a bubble - removed from time and pain and darkness. Here with Eliot, and with Teddy, and with their simple, precious life. And he says, “This is… this is good too.”

They’ve hours yet for everything else. Months, probably years left, knowing the mosaic. For the moment, it’s enough to be here, in this moment. To be home.

**Author's Note:**

> You can hang out with me on twitter ([coldwaughtersq](https://twitter.com/coldwaughtersq)) and on tumblr ([coldwaughtersquentin](https://coldwaughtersquentin.tumblr.com)), if you wanna! I don't bite!


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